He was off on distant lands, away from the place where everything that mattered to him was being raped and pillaged, where everyone that mattered to him was raising arms and preparing to fight, standing up against the ferociousness of the numerous Northern invader.
Far removed from the world, Iskald suddenly felt helpless and lost. Where was he when his homeland called, when the land of his father and mother groaned in pain under the heavy boot of the oppressor? Where was he when the people needed a leader, when the throne was vacant, abandoned?
Suddenly it all became clear to him and in a matter of a few moments, Iskald realized that all this time he really did want to return, but he was afraid. Afraid of what he would find and what he would have to face. Afraid of his destiny.
He had run in fear, he had fled to distant lands when he had the chance to go back and make things right. He had cowered in dread and run like a scared little boy, far away from all that mattered to him. But it was time to step up now, it was time to make things right now, at this key moment of his life and the existence of his Realm. Now was the time to step up and to be a man, to face his destiny and to be what he was fated to be from the very first time he entered this world as the heir of Vahan of Lyons, the leader of the Northern Wolves, the Ruler of Lyons.
In a moment of feverish fervor Iskald ran out of the inn, leaving behind the stunned Nekryan fishermen, climbed on his horse and rode North, up to the coast. His homeland needed him, Aezubah needed him, the Wolves needed him, and his people needed him. In this very moment the fate of the world was being decided in the North, in the shadows of the great mountains and on the paths of impassable forests.
His heart was clear. His homeland called him back, the mother that birthed him, the land that reared him and shaped him, they needed him back in its womb, torn now by the sharp blades of the Viking swords. He did not know yet how he would get there, whether any ship was still to sail North, whether it even made sense for him to go there now, when it could have all ended already, when Lyons could already be nothing more than a pile of smoking rubble and ashes.
* * *
Iskald smiled now and stopping his task, he turned to face the scorching sun. The rays pleasantly stroked his face. A light breeze cooled the burning air. The Omen was getting ready to raise sail. The porters were done with the loads and the ship’s holds were already closed. Aldhu was giving the last of the orders, the crew worked hard, shuffling about before Iskald; but no one said anything to him and only from time to time he would catch a glimpse or glance directed at him. He turned his thoughts back to the events of the last few days.
He was in luck when he had finally reached Ffay, because as soon as he questioned port officials, he learned that one more vessel, the Omen, was to set sail the following day, heading right into the hornet’s nest, right into Hvoxx. The young Northerner thanked his gods for the good news and after making final preparations and purchasing the supplies he needed, he made his way to the nearest inn to spend his last night in the Southern Realms.
Early next morning he planned to find the ship Omen and to talk its captain into taking him along for the journey. Iskald was ready to pay any price to board that ship, whether it be in gold or in blood. But the gods decided that it was not to be so easy.
Just when Iskald had finally found the peace of mind he was looking for since the day he was freed so unexpectedly from the hands of Isla, just when his heart was at peace and when he thought that nothing held him from going back to the Far North, just then the gods tested him again, for the final time perhaps, forcing him to make the hardest choice he ever had to make. Sitting in the tavern sipping wine the day before he was to leave Nekrya forever, Iskald inadvertently learned that Laela, the Princess of Nekrya, had never wed Nathaniel and that her heart was still free.
For the second time in just a few short days Iskald’s world came tumbling down on his head. Everything was torn down once more, the security of the walls he had built around himself was crushed, his priorities were put to the test again, and once more nothing made sense.
He felt himself being plunged down a spiral, down a bottomless black pit where there was no constructs, just superb blackness and an unleashed chaos. And he was forced to rearrange all that he came to believe in and all that he came to know over the past year; ever since the day he left Nekrya.
He had never looked back after he had left, he never thought back and questioned his decision, believing deep in the bottom of his heart that he had made the right one. Believing that Laela and Nathaniel were well on their way to being married, Iskald assumed that it was precisely what happened. He never questioned it and assumed it to have certainly taken place. It was a fact that he came to believe in, that he came to accept and that he learned to live with.
Though the news of their marriage never reached him, he thought it understandable since he traveled far West and had thus far avoided both Nekrya and Burrodha, the Kingdom of Duke Nathaniel, the two places where such news would be of great importance and where it would be spread all over the land.
Now it appeared that his decision to avoid the two Kingdoms, a decision that he had made in order to prevent the opening of old wounds, that decision was the very cause of the terrible shock he underwent that evening in Ffay when he learned that Laela and Nathaniel never in fact wed.
Iskald stared blankly at the wall before him. His mind was numbed and he found it difficult to process what he had just learned and all that it signified. His heart was pounding and he felt the horrible urge to claw at his chest, to claw into it and open it up with his bare fingers, to stop his heart from beating so hard. All that he thought he had put to rest over a year ago when he left Nekrya, all that he thought he had buried, came back with thrice the force, as if it had never left, as if that entire year had meant nothing.
As if all that time he spent trying to put her memory to rest, trying so hard to forget about her, so hard to erase her image from his mind, trying so hard to move on with his life, all that time was wasted. The memory of the beautiful Nekryan Princess lingered on wherever he went, whatever he did, she was with him every moment of his life and now he realized it fully.
His first impulse now was to climb his horse and ride into Arrosah, to ride like the wind, to drop to his knees before her and feel her presence again. And it took all of the strength of his crumbling will to force himself back into his seat.
When he did finally rise to his feet, he walked the streets of Ffay for half the night, walking blindly until he grew weary finally and sat down in a small alley, half-naked and unarmed, staring at the brilliant sky above him, without a thought in his head. He was numbed, filled with emptiness and nothingness.
A group of large, red-eyed rats ran before him, but he barely even noticed them, though one of them stopped and started chewing on his boot. Iskald simply shook the repulsive creature off his leg and the rodent screeched and scuttled away . The young man sat there until the sun started rising and he heard the cock sing his morning tune.
Getting back up to his feet with a heavy sigh, Iskald stretched his stiffened body and then slowly made his way to the inn. Having come back to his room, he stretched out on the bed and stared into the ceiling, trying for the final time to make up his mind. What was he to do now that he was faced with these two paths? Which path was the one he should choose?
With the same avid craze that he had thanked the gods the day before for putting him back on the right track and for making it possible for him to return to Lyons, Iskald now cursed them all. It was a cruel and harsh test that they were putting him through. He was now torn between two great loves: the one, an uncompromising love for a woman who was and would continue to be forever the undisputable queen of his heart, and the other love, the love for his Motherland, the land that had birthed and raised him and was now in need of his aid.
One of these loves he would turn his back on right now, one of them he had to abandon, perhaps forever, who knew? The decision itself was not that hard to make, because Iskald realized which one of the two needed him more now. It was dealing with the decision that was the difficult part; it was coming to terms with the injustice and accepting the fact that the world was not fair, and that sacrifices had to be made every day by him, not only by others. Iskald learned a long time ago how to forfeit his own happiness in the name of a greater good, but now it was tearing his heart.
He had already made his choice a year ago. He had already given Leala up so that she could be happy and now he was forced to do it all over again; he was asked to go through the same pain and grief once more, as if he had not yet suffered enough. And this time it was more difficult too, because she was there, she was right there within his reach and he could not have her. His duty called him and he had to put his own happiness on hold, perhaps give it up altogether because who knew if he would ever be able to return to Nekrya, if he would even live to see the next summer?
It would be so easy to forget everything right now and just ride down South again, again into the heart of Nekrya, and see her again, see her as he remembered her. It would be so easy... but it was impossible. What would she say if she learned of who he really was and of how he had abandoned his homeland?
Iskald closed his eyes and a deep sigh escaped his chest. Then he closed his heart and locked it in a tough, rigid shell; he gathered his belongings and left the room without looking back. And then he left Nekrya without looking back.
* * *
Iskald leaned against the side of the ship and looked ahead to the horizon. Whichever way he turned his head, he saw nothing save the lustrous, beautiful, but treacherous waters of the Azmattic Ocean. The mirror-like sheet of water filled the awesome nothingness surrounding Omen and carried the ship quietly, bringing it closer with each passing moment to the Far North. Nothing disrupted the perfect calmness of the sea and only a slight gust rippled the waters.
Aldhu looked at his boys with pride because even though the sails had been down for half a day now, they only slowed their pace by a fraction. He noted while looking at his maps that over the last eight days they had already managed to sail through a little over a quarter of the way to Lyons. If the wind picked up and they did not encounter any major delays such as storms, for instance, the Captain estimated that they would arrive in Triahnnem in three weeks, perhaps a little more.
Considering the fact that under normal circumstances a trip across the Ocean lasted anywhere from four to six weeks, Aldhu thought they were making excellent time, especially with a full load. He was pleased therefore, as was Iskald, who was eager to leave the ship for several reasons.
First of all, he was no sailor. Having been raised in the shadows of the great Northern mountains he felt uncomfortable on the deck of the Omen and often looked very uneasy, especially on days when the strong Northern currents swept beneath the ship, rocking it back and forth and sending the crew sliding all over the deck. On such days Iskald would sit quietly, trying to stay out of the way, cursing under his breath because he did not trust the small vessel and wished nothing more than to feel solid ground underneath his feet.
Then, of course, there was the fact that he heard no news from the North and had no means of obtaining such news. The reports that they all had heard were already at least a month and a half old, and who knew what had taken place in Lyons during that time? Who knew if they were not sailing straight into the hands of the Vikings?
Aldhu was pessimistic and had little hope, repeatedly stating that the Viking forces were too numerous and even if they had not already done so, they would eventually crush all resistance. Iskald had his own opinion about the matter. Having been reared and trained by Aezubah for many years before his capture, he came to know the way the aging warrior functioned.
The young Northerner was sure that Aezubah was much too experienced and aware of his own desperate situation to have been drawn into an open battle with an opponent that outnumbered him, into a battle that could only end in defeat. Iskald thought rather that the old man had gathered his forces by the coast and used small-war tactics, attacking sporadically here and there, sacking smaller hordes of Vikings and protecting access to the sea.
In such way, Iskald reasoned, Aezubah could withstand the deluge for months even. The undefended portions of Lyons would suffer greatly but it was a small price to pay when the outcome of the war would decide the very existence of so many people, of an entire Realm. At any rate, having known Aezubah for a long time and having heard many stories of his ruthlessness, Iskald expected that the old man had plundered through Lyons himself just so that the Vikings would have nothing to come to and live on.
To be continued...
Copyright © 2008 by Slawomir Rapala
